Love Takes Wing
by Kaprou
Summary: Peter Parker encounters a creepy assassin thief. It's all fun and games until the danger follows you home. Owl. Strange. Wings of Needless Sorrow. The Stacys. Read, review, recommend! (Complete)
1. Chapter 1 of 3

**Love Takes Wing**

He hissed through the air upside down, his mind whirling as it fused distance and velocity and location into a kaleidoscopic four-dimensional awareness. He extended his fingertips. He could make it. He had enough room. No need for webbing.

Extended his fingers a little more.

There!

He sailed under the railroad bridge. At the last moment before he fell away from it he caught the edge of the last girder with his fingertips. His strength and adhesion held. He kicked at the edge of the bridge to brake, then swung gently back and forth, hanging by two fingertips in an upside-down ball, looking down over traffic, out to the water.

"I love exploring new territory," he muttered. His mind uneasily wandered back to the cameras on tripods in windows, three of them, along his old route. He wondered if "they" were trying to catch him. A shiver crawled down his spine, and he hung full length, only his arm slightly flexed as his two fingertips easily held the weight of his body.

"Well, Parker, how far do you think you can push your luck?" he whispered to himself, looking across the city at night. He felt a sudden chill, and he rubbed his arm absently. "Not quite summer," he muttered. "I think I'll be getting back." He checked with his subconscious, which had been studiously timing his pulse, allowing for recalculation as his heart sped up and slowed down over his exercise, and still kept track of the time. Half past midnight. Or, if you'd rather, twelve thirty one and fifty two and a half seconds.

"Thank you," he muttered. "Just guessing on that last half second, I'll bet."

He fired off a strand of webbing and slung around, the downward rush from the bridge giving him all the momentum he needed to vault over the three story warehouse and sail through the air, not knowing where he'd come down, his senses whipping across the cityscape instantly marking leverage points, routes, web targets.

Under the black mesh over his face, Parker grinned like a madman and slowly somersaulted downwards in free fall. It may be risky to exercise in the city, but this was too damn gorgeous to give up.

Suddenly; something out of place. Parker's eyes narrowed, and instead of firing web to sling him around or up, he calculated distance to the nearest roof. Not too much of a drop, not if he bled off some momentum first. Whistling down out of the murky sky, he touched a chimney; a few bricks ripped off and he was slowed, spinning; he kicked off a wall, then rolled across a roof and popped up to his feet with his back to a wall, heart going a little faster than it needed to be.

He relaxed, paying close attention to his senses as they unreeled, looking for the strand that had tugged with something unusual in the sensory net that was always spun around him. There. Men on a roof, all dressed in black. He moved around the wall, absently climbing up on it and scooting around over a four story drop to get a better view.

Quite an operation on the roof two buildings down. A tented skylight, one panel open, a miniature block and tackle set up over it. Four men on the roof. Three dressed like cliché terrorists, the fourth with peculiar hair that swept up on both sides and a mask with round goggles. He wore an English greatcoat, and as Parker squinted at him he saw ruffles at the wrist and a bunch of lace at the throat. He blinked, and looked again.

Well, it wasn't Logan at any rate.

The cable that led down into the building was twitching and jerking like someone was climbing it. Parker popped off the side of the building and slapped into the one next door a story down, whirling around the side of the building and skimming along its edge to come up on the edge of the building with the party on its roof. He peeked up, much closer now.

The three men in black helped haul a large fourth man up out of the skylight. He went down on one knee immediately, offering a black box to the man with the greatcoat. The goggled and cloaked man stepped up and opened the box. A smile twisted his face, and Parker noticed his teeth were a bit too sharp. Reaching in, the cloaked man pulled forth a small metal disc, like an amulet or a broach.

"Well done," he hissed, and the four stood and bowed. But now the rope was jerking again; was someone else down there?

Peter angled around the building to see where they were. Looking down, he saw the sign; Arronod's Antiques and Gallery of Antiquities.

"Shouldn't you loons be robbing a diamond store?" Parker muttered under his breath. Then he casually bashed in a window with his foot and scuttled clear.

Raucous alarms blared, and steel bars crashed down behind all the windows. Parker reached the roof in time to see the cable hanging from the block and tackle get pinched as steel shutters rolled up over the skylight. He grinned.

"Oops," he whispered to himself. "A captive should give the police enough to work with here. My job is done."

He hesitated.

"Almost," he amended. The five that were getting away quickly ran across a plank hastily placed between the antique display gallery and the next building. Parker shadowed them, a dim shape on the wall.

They reached a fire escape and began to move down it, quick and efficient and without panic. Parker looked at the bottom of the fire escape and saw a stack of empty boxes in the alley blocking view of the shiny yellow cab parked under the escape. His eyebrows raised. Not bad, not bad at all. Two motorcycles behind the cab, so they could split up with the loot. This warranted a closer look.

Moving slowly and surely now, he reached the wall opposite the fire escape, moving low so he would be level with them when they got that low. Sticking to the wall with his toes and heels, he leaned his back against it and rolled his mask up to his nose. As one of the thugs scooted down the fire escape moving as fast as he could, Parker sucked on his tongue for a moment then spit a thin streak of something like saliva. It hit the man on his jacket and spattered a bit; some got on his hair, his neck. Parker smiled. Waited. The man in the cloak whirled down the fire escape. Parker let fly again with the spittle, catching him in the top of his hair where he'd be least likely to feel it.

The man abruptly halted, looking around. His eyes were invisible, unreadable beneath the ridiculous round goggles. Suddenly Parker got a chill looking at him. Maybe he was funny looking, but he was also… dangerous somehow.

Below, the five men piled into the taxi and roared out through the boxes, leaving the motorcycles. Then they merged with traffic, the taxi brazenly cutting off a sub-compact. Parker raised his eyebrows again. "They even drive like a cabbie," he muttered to himself. He shrugged. "I've done my good deed for the night. Time to be headed back."

Of course, it was just about impossible for him to get lost. He sprang off the building and whizzed home.

**xXx**

"Thanks for a great lunch," Peter said, pushing back from the table.

"No problem," Gwen smiled. "Want to convince me you mean it and help with the dishes?"

"Only fair," Peter said. He looked over at the brooding man who was also at the table.

"Da_ddy_," Gwen said. "We have _company_." He turned to Peter. "When a case is in the papers, his brain gets rolling looking for clues so he can solve it from his armchair." She sighed, exasperated, but there was a smile in her eyes.

"Which is, of course, not very practical," the older man said. "They never get the details right. Don't even know what to look for." He was tall, and while he was no longer as solid as he had been in his younger days there was still strength in his shoulders, and his eyes were bright and keen. His white hair was combed in a style right out of the fifties. His clothes and breath smelled slightly of pipe smoke. He didn't miss much.

"What case would that be?" Peter asked.

"Now you've done it," Gwen said, rolling her eyes and standing up. "You have until the dishwater is run to satisfy your curiosity," she said. "I can't do anything about Dad, but _you_ I can convince to drop it."

Peter smiled and looked at her father, who had raised one eyebrow but couldn't keep from smiling. "Well, Peter, turns out a handful of crooks broke into Arronod's last night about half past midnight. But there are things that don't add up in this case. The only thing that was stolen was a single display of an ancient amulet; they ignored priceless treasures that would be as easy or easier to fence to private collectors. They set up a miniature crane to get in and out, circumvent the security for that wing remotely, and then vanish into the night. They left hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of material down there, making off with one amulet that, while priceless, would probably go for no more than ten thousand." He shook his head. "They didn't even put a picture of the amulet in the paper. How is the population supposed to help?"

"They _aren't_," Gwen said.

"And the police," he continued, tapping the paper. "No comment, of course, but I'll bet they think this is a trial run; you know, practice, hazing if you will. A demonstration of determination and a test run for something bigger. I want to believe that, but I can't." He looked sideways at Peter. "Something _very odd_ is going on here, and it's taking all the willpower I've got not to drive down to the scene and give it a real looking over, like the police used to before we were lulled into the belief that chemicals and equipment would do the looking for us."

"So all the burglars got away?" Peter asked casually. He got up and started stacking the plates.

"No," the older man said slowly. "Actually, there was a prisoner. A young man, late teens. Won't say a word. But that came from the station, not the newspaper. Did you think there would be a suspect captured?"

"You know," Peter said, "I always thought it was funny that they could capture a guy _in the robbed store_ while he was _holding the loot_ and still call him a suspect."

"Well," the former captain said with a peculiar smile, "things are not always what they seem, and it's important to give the truth time and a way to come out properly. Otherwise, the law might as well be a lynching mob." He sighed. "That happens enough as it is. Due process is one of the most important things our country has to offer its citizens and the world."

"You want to wash or wipe?" Gwen asked pointedly. Her father chuckled, and rose from his chair.

"If you kids will excuse me," he said with a smile, "I'm going to go have a pipe and mull this over."

"You do that," Gwen said. "Go mull." She shooed him out with her hands.

"Looks like I'm washing," Peter said meekly. "I don't know where stuff goes."

"Then you better get started," Gwen smiled. "Pay attention while I put stuff away. You do the dishes a lot?"

"Uh, I help Aunt May," he said. "I always do the drying at my house."

"Well, let me tell you how to do the washing right. First wash the cups, those are the least dirty so your dishwater doesn't get messed up. Then silverware, then plates, then pots and pans. Got it?"

"You bet," he said, trying to suppress a smile. Then he looked down at his buttoned long sleeve shirt. "Um, actually, can I wipe?" Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thought. Can't let her see my forearms. Not yet.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Afraid to ruin your manicure?"

"On no!" he simpered. "Dishpan hands!"

She couldn't help but smile. "You're such a weenie, Peter."

"Yeah," he said, "but don't tell anybody. You gonna start or what?"

She plunged a few glasses into the foamy water. "Hey Peter," she said slowly, "can I ask a big favor?"

"You can ask anything you like, pretty lady," he said.

"I feel so awkward," she said with half a smile, staring down into the water as she swirled the dish rag in the glasses. "I mean, I don't quite know how to ask this. Seems like a stupid request."

"Go on, I promise not to think it's stupid."

"Well," she said, "My mother, she's not around anymore. My grandma lives in California, about as far away as you can get. So… I don't really have anyone to celebrate Mothers Day with." She looked him in the eye. "I know it's a lot to ask, but will you let me help celebrate Mothers Day with Aunt May?"

Peter blinked.

"Sure, Gwen," he said. "If I'd been thinking, I would have _asked_ you to. This is great! What did you have in mind?"

"Well," she said, looking down into the dishwater as she pulled cups out, plunked them in the rinsewater and stuck them on the drainer, "Today is Thursday and Mothers Day is Sunday, so I figured I'd just help you with whatever you were doing."

His mind whirled through a rapid recalculation of his finances. It didn't take long; there wasn't much to calculate. "I was thinking I'd take her to church in the morning, maybe lose a couple games of scrabble to her, something like that. I bet you could really put a shine on the event."

"We should at least cook her lunch," Gwen said. "Have you put in reservations for flowers? They might get sold out."

"I'll double check that," Peter said, nodding sagely. Maybe a small plant… yeah, and maybe he could dig up something in the park. He shrugged off that feeling and vigorously toweled the glasses.

"Oh, thanks, Peter. It really means a lot to me that you're willing to share Aunt May with me."

"Believe me," Peter grinned, "There's enough mothering in Aunt May to go around."

**xXx**

Peter walked down the sidewalk, wrapped up in his thoughts. Fifteen minutes to do a ten minute walk to Advanced Organic Chemistry II. He shrugged against the weight of his backpack. Lots and lots of books. Eyes to the sidewalk, he trudged along feeling half dead and not wanting to look up to see all the speed he was missing by hoofing it instead of swinging.

"Just breathe, Parker," he muttered. "Take it slow. Stay close enough to the ground to smell the roses." He glanced around. "I mean to suck the exhaust. Up there, just smog. To get the real deal, gotta be down here. Hello, my name is Peter, and I'm addicted to sucking car exhaust." He sighed. "Hi Peter." He glanced around, and felt a peculiar tug in his senses. He looked back down at the sidewalk and let his senses find the reason for him.

While his senses heightened, he thought of Aunt May. He hadn't even guessed Mothers Day was closing in. What could he do? How could he make it special? Then he smelled his spider tracer, acrid and bitter and not far away.

There. Blue car. Peter glimpsed the blue car out of the corner of his eye, and let his mind work. Nothing special about that car. Except it had been parked outside Gwen's house. And he had seen it for the first time this morning at the crosswalk four houses down from Gwen. Now it was here. And it reeked of his spider tracer. Hm.

Peter ducked into an alley and jumped at the wall. He kept his legs clear as he used his momentum to whip his hands along the wall, guiding his momentum up over the second story wall at the back of the alley. Then he tipped over and dropped, doing a backwards somersault and landed in the alley on the other side of the wall. His socks felt sticky; his feet wanted to help.

"That'll lose 'em," he muttered. "Must do chemistry. Must go to class. Must not let spider ghost get in the way of studies. Must not abandon future and education to prance about in a homemade leotard.

His senses grabbed his attention as he hopped a hedge and stood across the street from the campus.

The blue car rolled around the corner and idled in the no-park zone in front of the campus entrance. Traffic swarmed around them, and a steady flow of students entered and left the campus. Peter's blood chilled.

There. In the back seat. The glint of goggles, the silhouette of up-swept hair. Peter's senses zeroed in; the man in the back of the car still wore a great coat, but this time, around his neck; that amulet they had stolen. Peter heard a round chambered in an automatic weapon. His nostrils flared, his heart rate shot up, fever uncoiled in him, his limbs loosened, his clothes felt strangely bulky, the backpack on his back became dead weight.

They might not pursue him on campus. But if they did, they might be willing to kick up a ruckus with lots of people to get caught in the crossfire.

As if in slow motion, Peter heard the shutter trip on a camera, slide down and back up. He saw the photographer in the front seat and realized they had been following him all day, they could have pictures of the Stacys, of him…

The front seat passenger side window that faced Peter slid down, and a hand beckoned him. Looking both ways before crossing the street, Peter jogged over.

"A message," the thin faced man in the front seat said. "This is not the time or the place. We know you now. We know where you live, we know about your dad, your sister. So if you don't come to a meeting tonight they have an _accident_. Here." The man handed him a small square of paper with the address printed in clear block letters. "Midnight. Don't be late."

"But tonight's a school night," Peter said. The window rolled up, and Peter glanced at the back seat before the window closed. Under the goggles, the weird man was smiling.

Peter hopped out of the way as the car screeched out into traffic and around the corner. He realized he was trembling a little.

Suddenly it sunk in. "I don't have a father or a sister," he murmured, then his eyes widened. He rushed inside, up to a pay phone. No change. He glanced around and darted into the Registrar's office.

"Can I use a phone please it's real important," he said to the harried woman behind the desk as he pushed past six people in line. She gave him a cold look and pointed at the phone. He snagged it, spun it around, and grabbed the earpiece as he punched in the Stacy's number.

After three rings the phone was answered. "Stacy residence, this is John."

"Hi, Peter here. Hey," he said, and his mind blanked. How to warn him of the danger without blurting the truth? His first three lies were shot down before they were fully formed; Stacy was a smart man not easily bamboozled. "er," he said.

"Yes?"

"I just heard on the news that it's a killer day for UV, so you probably don't want to go out," he said in a rush. The registrar looked at him sideways, and a couple students in the line giggled.

"That so?" John drawled, a smile audible.

"Yeah, I gotta go," Peter said as a blush fired up through his face, "but you should stay inside and keep an eye out today. Too much UV makes people do crazy things. Okay?"

"I hear you, Peter," John said. "I think I understand what you're saying, but we need to have a talk about this later."

"Later is great," Peter said. "I'm gonna be late for class, bye." He hung up and ducked out of the office without making eye contact, followed by a burst of laughter.

"Just what I need before chemistry," he muttered, ducking his head and sprinting towards the science building.

**xXx**

"I hate lying to Aunt May," Peter muttered as he crouched on the roof of a building, looking up at the dimly glowing clouds. The city's light was trapped, unable to reach the sky through the clouds. Peter shrugged his shoulders, loving the feel of the mesh. "Okay, so I don't forget; I'm spending the night with Harry tonight and we're studying for chemistry. Right." He shook his head.

"So," he murmured to himself, "I have finals next week, it's a Thursday night, I haven't even started studying, and I'm gonna be on bodyguard duty. This is not good. Oh yeah, and Sunday is Mother's Day. That's just peachy." He sighed. "Guess I'll just have to take care of Mr. Goggles tonight." He pulled his mesh down over his face and dropped to the street.

The address was a squat concrete building surrounded by a twelve foot chain link fence with barbed wire along the top. Dogs roamed the fenced area. Peter grinned.

In a bound he was over the fence. Dogs bounded towards him, snarling and snapping too much to bark. In a single easy move he bounded to the side of the concrete building and clung to it. A dog leaped at him, snarling, and he swatted it; the dog flew through the air and slammed down on the ground, then sprang up yipping and sprinted away. Two more dogs jumped, and he sighed as he batted them away as well. For the moment, he had the place to himself. He dropped in the doorway and knocked politely.

The door swung open. At the far end of the room was a throne carved of wood. Upon the throne sat the cloaked, goggled figure. About fifteen thugs stood in the room, all heavily armed.

"Avon calling," Peter said.

"Come in," said a big man standing next to the throne. Muscles in his jaw flexed; he crossed his big arms.

"First, mind telling me what this is all about?" Peter said.

"We will do that when you have come inside."

Peter quickly gauged his chances of beating the snot out of everyone in the room, guns or no guns, then punching his way through the steel door to get out in one piece. Not bad odds. He stepped inside.

As he approached the chair, he looked it over. A stylized owl was carved into the back of the throne, with spreading wings. Peter tried not to smile.

"I'm here," he said to the seated figure. "So what do I call you?"

"Master," the big man said. "You will call him Master, as we do."

"Hm. No. Okay, I'll make up my own name. Nod your head when I get to one you like. Mister Goggles. The Moussed Madman. Mental the Dental. Flap the Light Fingered?"

"That's enough," the big man growled.

"I always like a selection," Peter pattered.

"Owl," came a hoarse voice from the throne. Peter's eyebrows shot up. "You call me the Owl."

"It talks," he said. "What a hoot."

Behind him, a number of rounds were chambered in various weapons through the room. Peter sighed. "Oh, come on, enough flexing and growling. Can we come to the point? I'm missing beauty sleep for this."

"The Master wishes to make your situation clear to you," the big man said. Peter looked at the Owl, seeing himself reflected in the round dark goggles. "When you triggered the alarm, when you interfered with our business you caused one of our number to be trapped."

"How do you know it was me?" Peter asked.

"The Master sees many things, knows many things," the big man said. "Do not interrupt again. The one you caused to be trapped was the Master's son." He paused for effect. "Now, beyond the reach of the Master's protection, the Master's enemies will kill his son and we can't stop them. So basically, you are responsible for the death of the Master's son."

Peter waited a moment. "You're going to kill me?" he said.

"Eventually," the big man said, his eyes hard and cold. "Eventually."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "How did you find me?" he asked. The thug smiled, but did not speak.

Something missing, something missing, Peter's senses did not find something they expected to. A shiver rolled up his spine as he looked at the Owl and his greatcoat, something missing…

"Where's the amulet?" he asked.

The Owl smiled, then chuckled, a peculiar light liquid sound. Then he laughed, and he threw his head back and gripped the throne and cackled, a sound so full of hate and malice that Peter took a step back. The other thugs in the room laughed, their eyes fixed on him as they howled, as shrieks of wicked mirth tore the night. Peter backed out and they made no move to stop him.

He fired web and whipped over the fence and into the city, but the hideous cackle of the Owl seemed to follow him into the glowing darkness of the urban night.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter slapped against the wall and hung there for a moment, his blood racing, his mind whirling. His first instinct had been to race to the Stacy house and—stand guard, or something.

"My home away from home," Peter murmured to himself, looking across the street at the library. If he didn't study, his grades would reflect that; much of the time he had spent away from schoolwork over the semester was justified by a hard push at the end, getting good grades on the final to pull up his GPA.

Web snapped out of his wrist, hissing across the open space, and he flung himself away from safety. His body sliced through the air and snapped into the wall. Crawling swiftly and silently he approached an upper window and stuck to it. He tugged, snapping the simple latch. He was in the library.

He scrambled down the window and dropped to the balcony, then stepped to the edge and looked down over the vast room. He dropped from the balcony to the floor, then padded around to the very back of the resource section and tugged his backpack from where he had hidden it that afternoon. He carried it to the table, unzipped it, snapped on the lamp on the table, and sighed as he began to pull slabs of textbook out of his bag.

"Isn't this heroic," he muttered. At the bottom of the bag were his crumpled street clothes. He pulled them out, shook them and tried to smooth some of the more offensive wrinkles out, then dragged them on over his mesh. He sat, sighed, and cracked his Physics II book.

His mind was still whirling, and as he glanced at the page his mind did not register the words. He sighed, put his head on the book, and whispered "can we please not do this, brain?"

Once again, those close to him were endangered by his web slinging.

"I know," he whispered. "I'll make it right. But tonight I have to study."

The clock on the wall read one o'clock when he started taking notes.

**xXx**

Peter walked up to where Gwen was sitting on the bench. "Hey there, pretty lady. Missed you in Chem II."

"Oh, Peter, hi," she said, turning to face him with a startled jump. Their eyes met, and Peter saw in her eyes a change; a flash of realization? Something. She smiled a guilty smile.

"What's up?" Peter said. "Not like you to miss class."

"Maybe I just happen to skip all the same days you do, or even half of them," she said with her eyebrows raised, not making eye contact.

Peter's heart froze in that moment.

"Where did you get that amulet?" he asked breathlessly, pointing at the metal disc hanging from her neck. It was about the size of a palm, with wedges cut out of the top and the bottom so it had two sharp tines at either end. Its surface was greasy looking and hypnotic, pearlescent gray black.

"It's mine," she said casually. "I got it last night."

"Where?" Peter repeated.

"At the mall."

"What, at Spencers?"

"No," she said. "What's with the cross examine? I got it from one of those peddler guys with the pushcart booths."

Peter looked at her hard for a moment. "Can I look at it?" he asked.

Her brow furrowed. "Not after being so rude to me, Mister Parker. God, you're a heel." She stood up, spun on her heel, and strode away.

Peter watched her go, his heart still cold. "Forgot your book bag," he said under his breath. He picked it up and stood watching her walk away. She did not look back. Fear he could not explain gripped Peter. The Owl's amulet. On Gwen. Peter shivered and wondered what that could mean.

"Definitely time to return this bag," Peter muttered. He hefted her book bag and took off towards the Stacy house at a trot.

**xXx**

Glancing around, Peter pretended not to notice the large man that stood at the corner, barely in view of the Stacy house. The big man saw him and smiled, but made no move to stop him. Great. The Stacys were under surveillance.

Peter bounced up the steps to the Stacy house and knocked on the door. A few moments later, the door opened and Peter was face to face with John Stacy.

"Afternoon, Captain," Peter said. "Gwen forgot her book bag at school. I thought I'd bring it by." He flashed a winning smile. "Finals next week; she'll need this to study."

"Indeed," the Captain smiled. "Come on in."

Peter followed him in to the den. "Have a seat, son," the Captain said. He sat behind his big desk and Peter took a seat in a chair in front of it. "Something's on your mind, Parker."

"I'm worried, Captain," Peter said frankly. "Gwen's not acting like herself today. And she has a new piece of jewelry, an amulet. I don't know where it came from, but I don't like it."

"Probably intensifies UV rays," the Captain said sagely. "Now how about you tell me what's really going on, young man. Your call yesterday was absurd. I believe you're a reasonably bright, mentally organized person and you were trying to get an idea across. Fill me in."

Peter blinked.

Opened his mouth.

Shut it.

Thought fast.

"Okay," he said. "I'm a bit nervous because I saw some low-life thugs hanging around your house yesterday. I thought maybe your interest in the case had attracted the attention of the thieves from the antique house job. Go look for yourself. There's a neckless guy leaning up against the lamp post across the street. He has an ear piece for a tac net."

John nodded. "Let's go look." They went to the dining room and watched through the gauzy curtain.

The street was empty except for Gwen. She took the steps two at a time and banged into the entryway.

"Parker," she snapped, "give me my books."

"They're in the den," John said. "It's alright."

"Alright?" she snarled. "This cad took my book bag. I looked for it for half an hour, Peter. Why did you take my book bag?" Her eyes flared, furious, and her voice took a hysterical tinge.

"I thought you left it accidentally," Peter said, taking a step back and raising his hands. "I didn't mean to—"

"Get out!" she shouted. "Get out of my house! Out!" Peter and John stood wide eyed, staring at her. She took two strides, grabbed Peter by the front of his shirt, and hurled him toward the door. "Get out of my house, Parker! Get out until you can figure out where you slept last night!" And with that and a final shove, Peter stumbled down the stairs as the door slammed behind him.

Oh no.

If Gwen called Aunt May—then called Harry—and couldn't find him!

Oh _no_. She couldn't think—

Her flaring green eyes watching him coldly through the glass on the door told him she just might.

He turned and walked away, head down, mind racing. This was not good. Still, an outburst like that was not like her.

His heart sank as he wondered if maybe it was; when she felt she had been cheated on. And still, _again_, he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth about where he had been.

Down the street and around the corner, a big man smiled to himself.

**xXx**

"What was all that about?" John asked his daughter. She whirled to look at him, nostrils flared, blood racing.

"I was out last night at the mall, and I was picking up a few things, and this man said he knew where Peter was, then he just smiled and walked away. So I get home, and call Aunt May looking for Peter. She said he was spending the night at Harry's place. So I call Harry. Harry's at a chemistry lock-in studython at school. So I swing by. Nobody's seen or heard from Parker, even though he said he'd be there, agreed to it two weeks ago. So where is Peter? You're the detective, Dad, and it's your fault I'm curious. Deduct away." Her tone was bitter.

"Are you quite sure," John said, inspecting his fingernails, "that you aren't overreacting a bit?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "He's never there when I need him, Dad," she said slowly. "What's a girl to think?" she turned and walked up the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

He watched her go, his eyes thoughtful. Then he shook his head. "Supper in thirty minutes, if you're hungry," he called up the stairs. Then he returned to the den. A glance at the clock told him it was just after five. He sat in his chair for a moment, looking at the empty seat Parker had been in earlier. "Hm." he said. Then he shook his head, went into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.

Behind him, a light step on the carpet.

"Change your mind about supper?" he asked.

**xXx**

Peter stopped. "This is stupid," he said. He turned and started walking back. "I care about the Stacys, and I trust them. I'll just tell them I went to see the Owl, that I was doing my evening exercises as a spider ghost and I ran across a burglary. Last night after I went to see the Owl I broke in to a library to study. Then when Gwen's amulet turned up I knew the Owl had gotten to her so it freaked me out, and the best thing to do now is to get that damned thing and toss it in the ocean. Yeah. I'll just come right out with it."

Fear coursed through him, thicker than his blood. "Heh," he said. "Stage fright. Give me a thug fest any day."

He came around the corner and saw the Owl's big man with a camcorder, recording the view through the Stacy's front window into the dining room. His senses kicked into overdrive.

No. Impossible.

Peter launched himself down the street and went airborne, smashing into the thug. The camcorder went flying, smacking down on the pavement and spinning, bits of glass and plastic skittering every direction. The big man was knocked off his feet then rammed between Peter and the lamp post that he had been standing ten feet away from. He buckled without a fight. Peter sprinted.

In the dining room, Captain Stacy stood up from digging in the fridge.

Behind him stood Gwen. Her eyes. They were so empty. So cold.

She raised the pair of scissors as Peter leaped through the air—

Captain Stacy caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Peter launch off the ground and come crashing through the glass as the scissors whipped down and drove into the flesh between Captain Stacy's shoulderblades, grating off bone then digging deep.

He managed a sound between a cough and a scream as the scissors plunged in to the hinge, four inches of wicked steel sunk into the meat of his back. Peter whirled past him and caught Gwen, tossing her to the side. She bounced off the wall, and squared off with him.

For just a moment, things went hazy for Peter and he stumbled; she sailed in and planted a fist square in his chest. Startled, he felt a peculiar power surge through her arm, and he flew back; he whizzed out of the dining room, across the entryway, and smashed through the door to the music room. He lay on the floor and sputtered for a moment.

The gray haze at the edge of his vision had faded. He realized that the amulet was helping Gwen, making her stronger and faster. Not stronger and faster enough. He rolled to his feet, shrugging off the blow, and bounded to the kitchen.

John gripped the amulet and yanked it off the chain that held it around her neck, the snapped links flying, as she plunged the scissors into his chest again, again. They both collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

Peter stood trembling for a moment, unable to take in what was happening. Then his mind had it all worked out before the numbness wore off. He snatched the phone and punched in 911. He rattled off the address and requested an ambulance, then dropped the phone without hanging up. Scooping up Gwen, he dashed upstairs and slipped out the window, fired out web, and swung into the night.

"Come on, Doc, be home," Peter whispered as his webs carried himself and his passenger towards Greenwich Village. "This is just too damn weird."

**xXx**

A light tapping on the glass of the intricately designed skylight roused the Doctor from his reverie. He glanced up to see Peter Parker clinging to the roof holding a woman. "Downstairs," he murmured, standing and striding towards the door of his Sanctum Sanctorum. Parker dropped out of sight.

Doctor Strange met him at the door. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Can I come in?" Peter asked, his eyes a little wild. Strange stood aside and gestured, and Peter dragged the limp girl in with him.

Strange shut the door. "Please explain."

Peter caught his breath. "Okay, this is my girlfriend Gwen, Gwen, Doc Strange, Strange, Gwen. So I go back to the house after she kicks me out and she's stabbing her dad with scissors and then things get a little gray and she whacks me, whoom, through the door, then the amulet is grabbed and—"

"Amulet?" Strange said.

Peter stopped, blinked. "Let me try that again," he said. "First can we put her somewhere?"  
"Upstairs," Strange said curtly.

When she was arranged on the bed and Peter had a small cup of tea, Strange bent over Gwen.

"She is sleeping," he murmured. "A dark force has released her. She will recover in an hour or two." He looked at Peter. "There should be a talisman of some sort; a bracelet, a necklace—"

"An amulet," Peter said decisively. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. "Like this." He sketched it out, with the two tines on top and the two on the bottom and the wedges cut out on the sides. "Wicked looking thing."

"Appearances do not deceive," Strange said, his face dark. "This is most unfortunate. I know this piece. If it has fallen into the wrong hands, it must be retrieved before further damage can be done. Where is the amulet now?"

Peter opened his mouth, then winced. "Last I saw Captain Stacy grabbed it. He's on his way to the hospital. He might have dropped it at the house."

Strange's eyes unfocused slightly, then his scowl deepened. "He is at the hospital, and he has the amulet. We have no time to waste." He shrugged on his red coat and headed for the stairs.

"What does the amulet do aside from grant some distraction, speed, and power?" Peter called after him as they hurried down the stairs.

"The amulet is called the Wings of Needless Sorrow," Strange said curtly as they moved through the front door and headed for Strange's sleek car. "When its power is invoked and targeted, it causes people to do their best to take the lives of those they hold most dear." He fired up the car as Peter hopped in, then they were roaring through traffic.

"Oh," Peter said in a small voice.

"Now," Strange said, "if you'll keep an eye on the Captain then I'll return to the house and watch over Gwen. Seems they have a powerful enemy. Once I've got the amulet in my possession and I'm assured that Captain Stacy is not tainted by its power, then we will be out of the woods."

"Sounds good," Peter said. "Thanks for your help."

The doctor said nothing, and Peter was not even sure he heard.

It took twenty minutes to get to the hospital. Before they were fully parked the two were out and moving to the emergency room.

Peter, running behind Strange, saw his red coat shift to a white one, saw the stethoscope around his neck as an afterthought. He blinked and pretended he hadn't seen anything unusual.

Strange trotted up to the desk of the nurse on duty. "Retired Police Captain John Stacy was just brought here. I need to see him."

The nurse nodded. "Of course, doctor. Let's see. He was in berth 18."

"Was?" Strange said, checking himself before he left the desk.

"Oh yes. He was fine," nodded the nurse brightly. "Just a little bump on the head and a couple shallow cuts."

"But you did take a blood sample," the doctor pressed.

"Yes, before we knew he was alright," the nurse replied.

"Bring it to me. I need to run a test on it," Strange said, looking deep into her eyes. Something in her expression went limp, and she mechanically walked back to get the blood sample.

"What does this mean?" Peter asked, knowing the answer.

Strange ignored him, reaching for the tube the returning nurse handed to him. His eyes unfocused, and he uncorked the sample tube and dripped the blood onto the pristine white counter.

Three drops fell, spattering; Peter gasped as he saw that their splash pattern was identical to the outline of the amulet…

"We have no time to waste," Strange said. "Captain Stacy is in the thrall of the amulet now, and with the power it gives him he can ignore his wounds and be a very dangerous man indeed. Once he has completed the task it gives him he will be released to wallow in the grief his act will bring him. He must be stopped."

"Where is he?" Peter asked.

Strange said nothing for a moment. Peter's eyes widened. Kill the one most dear to you.

Gwen.

"Let's go!" Peter said.

"No, not two of us," Strange said. "It is your task to stop him."

"What are you doing then?" Peter asked quickly.

Strange narrowed his eyes. "I need to find the one that unleashed this force on the world and make sure he can't do anything this rash again. Who and where was the one responsible for this? Do you know?"

"He's called the Owl," Peter began, and Strange listened intently.

**xXx**

Gwen woke with a start. Outside, distant thunder rumbled. She blinked, looked around, blinked again.

"Dad?" she said, her voice uncertain. She managed to push herself up off the bed, and she looked around the musty room, smelling peculiar ancient spicy smells. Heavy drapes covered the window, and the door to what looked like a hallway was open slightly.

"Dad?" she repeated, as a memory

flashed

she started to tremble. "Dad!" she said. She looked down, saw the blood on her hands.

Downstairs, a door slammed.

Her heart beat rapidly, and it was hard to breathe. She stood trembling, listening, motionless as she heard a slow heavy tread come up the stairs. Her voice failed her.

With a slow creak, the door to the room drifted open, and she saw a familiar figure in the dimness of the hall. Outside, a police car howled by, and by the dancing light it cast up into the room she caught a glimpse of her father.

Relief died stillborn in her chest, cold and terrifying; his eyes were not his own.

"Hello, Gwendy," he rasped. "You have the right to remain silent." His smile widened, and his teeth almost glowed in the dimness.

She saw the amulet hooked on his jacket pocket like a badge…

Another door out of the bedroom. Gwen lunged for it, threw it open, dashed through, terror galvanizing her and sending her hurling into the adjoining room in the suite.

"I'm about to give you all the rights you'll ever need," came the hauntingly familiar alien voice from behind her. She couldn't even scream.

Then he began to laugh, a sound that swelled through the empty house like a living thing. She battered the locked door, sobs erupting with her breath.

He cut off her escape.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter briefly wondered why all his fastest cross-town web excursions were motivated by Gwen as he pushed his aching body to shoot further, swing faster, race across the town like a restless ghost who no longer felt gravity or air resistance. Carrying Gwen at top speed through town to Strange's was the first time he had accomodated a passenger, and the unfamiliar balancing had worn him more than a trip three times that distance normally would. Now he was in full mesh, whipping through the night like a dislodged shadow, trying to prevent further intra-family assault.

He cut through the air like a diver, only moving up instead of down. There, at the end of the block, was Strange's house. Peter spun in mid air and fired a web at the lamp post, reaching the end of his upward arc and using his downward momentum to whip that direction; he let go of the web moving fast in a flat spin. He nailed the corner of Strange's brownstone and tugged hard, for he saw a face in the window, the terrified visage of Gwen Stacy with a look he would carry to his grave—duck, sweetheart

and he smashed through the window, over her startled head and into John Stacy, hurling him back and smashing into the locked door leading to the hallway. The two figures toppled through the hardwood, Stacy taking the brunt of the blow. Peter hopped back lightly, suddenly cold with the thought he might have killed the old man.

No need to worry. John was on his feet with catlike grace. He smiled, blood flowing from his nose and mouth, his eyes feral.

Peter's mouth opened to start up the witty repartee, then he realized Gwen was standing there; she would hear him. He couldn't reveal himself to her. Not yet. He gritted his teeth and shut up.

No need to fight here. Peter darted in low, and John's swing went wide. Peter rolled upside down, put his foot up and touched the amulet with his toe. Adhering to it, he rolled back out, tossing the amulet up with his foot and catching it neatly in his hand.

John folded, thudding down on the carpet. The amulet didn't leave people gently.

Gwen peeked out of the room, shaking.

"It's over," Peter whispered, smiling, relieved, hardly noticing that he had slipped the amulet into the mesh over the back of his hand…

**xXx**

They had just finished loading the semi truck with the last of their gear from their former base. The thug walked up to the Owl. He smiled, even though his nose was taped and his eye was swelling and one arm was in a sling.

"Your plan worked, Master," he said. "The amulet is in circulation. Great pain and sorrow will result."

"I need it back," the Owl hissed. "To become the greatetht athathin of all time. Onth it'th done with Parker." He smiled, his filed teeth gleaming. The thug grinned back, his teeth still pink from his earlier beating.

A strange, chill wind whirled around them. Fifteen thugs moved to surround their leaders, looking around uneasily. The Owl sniffed the air, his head moving in peculiar jerky motions. "Thomething'th coming," he murmured.

The chain link fence bent over and crumpled in a twenty foot section. A dark, saturnine man in a red coat walked deliberately over the wreckage and faced them.

"Oh," the Owl said, blinking rapidly. "Oh."

"You don't know me," the man said softly. "You never will. I have come to stop you. Never again will you unleash forces like the Wings of Needless Sorrow."

The Owl and his thug exchanged a glance, and then all the thugs opened fire, their bullets shredding through the air and pounding the man, throwing him back through the air as they mashed through his coat, punctured his flesh, tore him to pieces.

"Kyaaa!" howled the strange man in goggles, triumphant. Police sirens flared up not far away.

Then a peculiar light touch on the back of his head; "Stay back," the stranger's voice said, and the thugs whirled to see him standing behind the Owl. "Your master commands hypnosis, but the reality of illusion is mine. Tell them to drop their weapons, Owl."

He gestured; they dropped their weapons. Strange leaned his face in close to the Owl's ear. "Now listen carefully, hedge wizard. I'm going to search you, to see what you can and cannot do. Resist me, and I'll still find out what I want to know but you will experience extraordinary pain." Strange let his eyes drift half closed, and the Owl made peculiar whimpering noises as he twitched. He struggled, then shrieked as a small line appeared in Strange's forehead. Blood squirted into the goggles from the Owl's tear ducts, and as the Owl trembled the blood danced behind the glass, the lenses a third full.

"They always resist," Strange said softly to himself. "I will let you live, Owl, but you will never again be able to use your magic. I have spoken."

"Nothing changeth, withard," snarled the Owl with a whimpering hiss as Strange released him. He collapsed, his voice on the edge of tears. "Onth releathed, the Wingth will do what they mutht do!"

As silently as he had come, the stranger left. Police cars screamed down the street, closing in on the scene of the firefight.

The Owl and his followers did not wait to be arrested. By the time the police arrived the lot was empty.

**xXx**

"It was horrible," Gwen said in a weak voice. "He said… he said he would kill me… with his bare hands, just for the feel of my bones snapping under his grip…"

Peter stood, every muscle taut. Gwen sensed something was wrong.

A dark wave swept around him, and as Peter resisted he felt it encircling him, pushing him down. As he struggled against the killing urge, he absently wondered how long John had lasted. Then he dropped to one knee with a hoarse gasp, gripping his skull as though it were about to explode. Gwen's eyes widened; she knew what this meant. She grasped her father's shoulders and tried to drag him to the stairs.

Peter felt himself bending. "Strange!" he shouted as a last effort to resist, then he was…someone else. The amulet flared beneath his mesh.

"Where are you going," the spider ghost asked softly.

Gwen dragged her father's body down the stairs, her desperate gasps carrying tears in them.

The spider ghost moved to follow, then hesitated. The Wings hesitated. Something in this one was not entirely human…the spider ghost bore no particular love for these two. The dark magic was, for a moment, confused. So was Peter Parker. So was the spider ghost. The three of them struggled for supremacy.

Gwen reached the bottom of the stairs and threw her last desperate strength into dragging her father out the front door.

"Must—not—follow," gasped Peter.

Then the dark magic got it all sorted out, and plunged the other two beneath its weight. The spider ghost lazily bounded over the railing and landed in front of the door. He opened it, and came face to face with Doctor Strange.

Quicker than thought, the spider ghost's fist whipped out and smashed a crushing blow through Strange's head, which vanished like smoke in the same instant his coat flared towards the spider ghost, effortlessly lifting the two up and whacking them against the back wall. The spider ghost had it figured out before they hit the wall. Strange was an illusion, but his coat wasn't!

He whirled to the side, but the coat countered him. He slid up the wall, and the coat was on him. Lashing out with his leg to kick the coat away, it swirled over his leg and pushed him over against the wall. Then Peter had the most peculiar sensation…

**xXx**

Strange hastily finished the protections to keep his body empty while he was gone, hoping his coat had reached the scene in time to prevent a tragedy. He finished the last chalk mark then sat in lotus position, breathing in for the space of three heartbeats and then with the skill only an accomplished master possessed slipping free of his fleshy vessel, bounding clear into the Astral Plane.

In an instant he was back at the house, and he saw the four entities battling on the wall; Peter Parker, the spider ghost, the Wings of Needless Sorrow, and his coat. Diving into the fray he gripped the Wings, amorphous gray wickedness distilled to a life force all its own.

They grappled.

The wings were pure foulness and evil and sadism, but Strange did not let them taint his ghostly form. The Wings had taken three hosts, and each one had put up a fight. Strange gripped it, tugged it, twisted it, wrenched it, and the battle was over. He forced the magic back into the metal, then whipped back to his body in a heartbeat before his body had even exhaled.

Peter dropped to the floor. The coat whipped away from him, out the door and up into the night. He lay on the floor panting, blood flowing from his nose. He remembered taking the amulet from John Stacy, but after that nothing…

He tore the amulet from the mesh on the back of his hand and let it ring from the floor. He stood shaking, staring at it, feeling filthy. He blinked, then ran up the stairs and into one of the guest rooms. Tearing open the wardrobe, he pulled out a suit and scrambled into it with all his unnatural speed. Doing the best he could, he dabbled the blood off his face. He darted to the stairwell, dropped down, was through the front door. There; halfway down the block Gwen was dragging her father. Peter bounded up the building and was ahead of her in no time. He dropped to the cross street and strolled to meet her from the other direction.

"Gwen, what happened?" he asked, shocked.

She whirled with a yelp, then almost collapsed with relief. "Oh Peter it was horrible, I don't know where I am and dad tried to kill me and there was this creepy house and I don't know where I was all afternoon oh Peter what happened I don't know I—"  
"Ssh," he said, pulling her to him for a moment. "Let's get you home." Only he saw Strange drop from the sky to the pavement behind the group.

"Perhaps I can help?" Strange said, and Gwen spun around again, breathless.

"Doc, just the man I was coming to see," Peter said. "Can you help?"

"I'll do my best," Doctor Strange said with a peculiar smile.

**xXx**

"This is _your_ house?" Gwen asked warily, looking at Strange askance.

"Yes," he said shortly. He propped the half-conscious retired police captain in a chair, and Gwen and Peter sat on either side of him. "I'll get some tea on," Strange said, "then tend to those stitches for the captain."

"I want some answers," Gwen said, anger trembling in her voice.

Strange turned and looked deep into her eyes. "You will forget them. And the questions."

For a moment she sat frozen, mouth half open, eyes dilating. Peter bowed his head.

"Please," came a hoarse whisper from the captain. "Please don't do that to me."

"Why?" Strange asked the captain. "Surely it would be simpler for this event to go away, rather than forcing you to deal with the questions and the answers. I'll cover the emergency room bill. Your house was broken into, end of story."

"No," Stacy said, shaking his head. He blinked, his eyes clearing. "A man is the sum of his experiences, when all is said and done. Even the unpleasant ones. I earned these memories, and these questions. You must not take them from me. Please," the captain said again, his voice quiet. "I won't compromise what you're doing. I am dying of curiosity, but I'll respect your boundaries. Just don't… don't take anything away from my mind."

"Doc?" Peter said.

Strange sighed. "Don't make me regret this, Stacy," he said, his voice grim.

Stacy let out a sigh of relief. "I suppose this is too soon to ask for an explanation."

"Entirely," Strange said. "What explanation you do receive, if you ever get one, will come from Peter."

"And I'm not sure I know everything that's going on," Peter said, looking pointedly at Strange.

"For now," Strange said, "the story is over." He held up the disc of metal, and Peter held his breath.

Strange laughed. "I have defeated it," he said. "It is inert until some nimwit wakes it up again."

"The amulet," Stacy mused. "It revolves around the amulet."

A smile flitted across Strange's face. "Yes, the amulet is coated with a psychotropic drug that lowers the resistance of the human mind to suggestion. The man who gave it to Gwen was a master hypnotist, and his accomplice waited for the amulet to come to you so you could be influenced in turn. In fact, if you stare into the flat metal here you will feel yourself become hypnotized. As a hypnotist myself, and a chemist, I have arranged for myself to be immune. Does that help?"

"Lots, thanks," the former captain said, keeping the rest to himself. He watched Peter for a moment.

Peter took a deep breath. "Let's deal with the rest of this tomorrow. I'm exhausted," he said.

"Where are your shoes?" asked Captain Stacy, looking at Peter's bare feet.

The Doctor pulled out a kit with a crescent needle and thick black thread.

**xXx**

Peter walked toward the Stacy residence, noting the repairman at work replacing the dining room window. He knocked, and John opened the door.

"Morning, Peter," he said, and he returned to the den after letting him in. "Gwen's upstairs."

"About yesterday," Peter said, following him into the den. Stacy picked up his pipe and lit a match.

"Peter," he said carefully, "I know enough about what's going on to know that you're a good kid wrapped up in some heavy stuff. When the time comes when you need someone to talk to," he said, studying the pipe bowl as he lit the flame, "I will be there for you. Just do me a favor, please?"

Peter waited wordlessly.

"Don't lie to me." The captain made eye contact briefly, then returned to his paper.

"Thank you, sir," Peter said, and he backed out of the room and headed for the stairs.

"Gwendie, you up there?" he said.

"In my room," she called.

He trotted up the stairs and leaned on her door frame. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said absently. "Just painting."

He looked at her painting. With black paint on a canvas she had roughed out the shape of the amulet on a white background.

"So, what are you painting?" he asked.

"A shape," she said vaguely. "Something about it is familiar somehow."

"Yeah," Peter said, distracted; he noticed for the first time that the amulet, stylized as it was in Gwen's painting, also resembled a crouched spider. The notion stopped him cold, and he looked at the painting, losing his train of thought.

"You too, huh," Gwen said, looking over at him.

"Me too," Peter said. "Look, we need to go to the store to get food for lunch with Aunt May tomorrow. I was wondering if you wanted to come. If you're on a roll with this, I can do it myself," he said.

She looked at him, eyes unfocused for a moment. Then she blinked. "No," she said. She blinked again and tossed her brush in the paint water. "No," she said, sounding more businesslike and sure. "I'll go with you. This'll keep."

Peter smiled and extended his crooked arm. She threaded her arm by his and they walked to the stairs.

"Bye dad, be back later," Gwen called.

"Take care," he called back from the den. "Be good."

They trotted down the front steps and walked down the sidewalk. Gwen looked at the shattered dining room window and the workmen that were replacing it.

"I wish I knew what punk broke out our window," she said. "I'd like to get my hands on him."

"I bet you'd make a mess of him," Peter said. "Probably punch him through a door or something."

She laughed. So did he.

**xXx**

The front door opened and Aunt May walked in, followed by Peter in his best suit and tie.

"Why Peter," Aunt May said, "it smells like roast beef in here."

"Ta daa," Gwen said, stepping out of the kitchen and pushing stray hair back from her face with the back of her hand. "Lunch is served! How was church?"

"Dignified," Peter replied. "Now, Aunt May, you know this is all class. In the dining room, even," Peter said with a smile. "On the china."

"Oh, Peter, Gwen, how _nice_," Aunt May said with a smile. Peter helped her out of her coat.

"After lunch," he said, "we're taking you to get a manicure. No use resisting, we already have the appointment."

"You two," she said, blushing. "Well, thank you."

Without further ado they sat down to eat, with roast beef and carrots and potatoes and salad. Cheesecake was served for dessert.

"I'm positively stuffed," Aunt May declared at the end of the feast.

"We're not _quite_ through with presents," Gwen said, a twinkle in her eye. Peter raised his eyebrows, but Gwen ignored him and headed for the living room. She returned with a picture frame, turned glass away from Aunt May.

"This is a present I painted for you myself, Aunt May," she said. She turned it around.

"Why, it's _beautiful_," Aunt May said, her hand straying to her neck as she looked it over. The still life painting amazed Peter too.

A beautiful dim vase dominated the painting, with a spray of orchids spilling from the top. It stood on a glass table with silk draped around one side of it. Within the vase's outline Peter made out the shape of the amulet that had started the painting. It was concealed, overlaid, become beautiful.

Peter felt his throat constrict and he felt heat in the back of his eyes. The image was overcome. Defeated. He looked at Gwen and felt a strange pride welling through him. He saw his own emotion echoed in her eyes. Something ugly had become beautiful through her.

They were suddenly aware that silence had fallen in the room, and Peter felt himself laugh. He got up and hugged Gwen, then carried the painting into the living room. "This is perfect for the living room," he said. "Right over the couch."

"I say, that _is_ a good place," Aunt May said.

"Let us do the washing up," Peter said to Aunt May, "then I'll take you to the manicure shop."

"No rush," she said, settling herself and picking up her knitting.

Peter and Gwen quickly cleared the table and stacked the dishes, then ran dishwater.

"How about you wash," Peter said. "I'm not the one with an appointment with the manicurist."

"You are _such_ a weenie," Gwen said, smiling.

"Yeah, don't tell anybody," Peter said in a conspiratorial tone.

There was a quietness between them for a moment as the dishwater ran, then Peter sighed. "You are so beautiful," he said. "Not just the way you look, but the way you are. You know," he said, taking her hand and pulling it to his chest as he looked into her eyes, "you bring wonder to my life. You bring things I wouldn't know I didn't have without you there to show me. You bring me a kind of beauty I could never get any other way."

She blushed furiously, but her eyes drank in his gaze. "Why Peter Parker," she said, "I do believe that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

He swallowed hard. "I mean it, too."

She opened her mouth to speak and couldn't. She blinked, her eyes shimmering. "I know," she whispered.

For a long moment, they just held each other.

Then the moment slipped away, and they cleared their throats and turned their attention to the task at hand. In no time, the dishes were polished and put away. Peter and Gwen headed out to the living room, where Aunt May was pulling on her coat.

"Well, young lady, we better be on the move," Peter said.

"I'm ready," she replied, patting at her hair. "You know, I just love you two kids to death," she said with her sweetest smile.

Peter and Gwen glanced at each other, and for just that moment Peter thought that was the weirdest, funniest thing he had ever heard.

6


End file.
